How To Be Good
by PhoebeM
Summary: Dramione. On the night of Dumbledore's death, Hermione sees in Draco what others have missed - a scared boy with the power to change the course of the war. Her pleas for him to reconsider go ignored, but that night becomes the catalyst for an unlikely friendship and even less likely romance many years after the war. Part One.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

**Author's Note: My biggest and most grateful THANK YOU to Bunnyhops for beta-ing this story and providing her invaluable feedback. You're a star! Although I know many readers on this site are from the US, I have chosen to stay true to British English spellings to the best of my ability. This is Part One in the series, Part Two to be released in the next month or so.**

**EARLIER**

He wasn't sure how she had riddled it out. He'd been so careful not to let anything slip. Of course, he wasn't entirely surprised. She was brilliant. Too brilliant for her own good. But her clever investigation now gave him cause to be even more anxious - scared, even, if he would allow himself that admission. She came out from the shadows, intercepting him in the third-floor corridor. The moon illuminated them in cool, pale hues. He imagined that for how beautiful it made her look, he must look equally ghastly.

"Draco, please," her voice was hardly more than a whisper. Tears pricked at her eyes but refused to spill over. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent his own and tried to swallow the rock that settled in his throat. It had been a very long time since he'd seen her cry. Somehow that detail added to the staidness of his situation.

"Go back to your dormitory and stay there. Don't leave. Whatever you hear, whatever you see, just stay up there. It won't be safe," the words tasted bitter as they cut across his tongue. Her silence was too much, and despite his best efforts he still could not stop the plea. "Please, Granger."

She shook her head and held out a hand. Her fingertips grazed the lapel of his jacket, so lightly he couldn't feel her touch, but it managed to burn him just the same. Heat flooded his cheeks.

"Harry isn't back yet. I don't know what's happened. Come with me, you don't have to do this. We'll go to the forest, or to Hagrid's... anywhere," she was reaching now, they both knew it. "Anywhere." She repeated. "I'll help you."

The silence that stretched between them was thick and heavy; suffocating. He didn't know what to do with it. They weren't lovers, weren't even friends, really, and he would freely admit, at this moment, that he didn't know much about being either. What they had was a very tentative understanding that sometimes masqueraded as trust, forged from an unspoken agreement to stop insulting each other now that real-world problems outweighed petty schoolyard barbs. There was also nagging at the back of his mind, an unsettling feeling that reminded him he didn't want her hurt. It wouldn't be right. He didn't know what to do with that, either. Since he'd probably be dead by morning perhaps he would give himself something, just this once.

"Hermione," _There_. He'd said it. "Go to bed."

Impulsively, he reached a hand out to touch one of her amber curls. Soft, so soft. He would hold onto that softness as the rest of his world turned hard and cold.

His touch was quick, gone before she could process it and before he could succumb to anything more. She blinked, and the tears dashed across her cheeks. Her chin wobbled. She wasn't crying for him, he knew. If anything, she was crying for Potter, for Dumbledore, for herself… for all the innocent people about to get hurt. Granger was like that. He'd tried. He'd warned her, at least.

The echo of his footsteps could not drown out the sound of her sniffle. He didn't know what possessed him to speak to her again, but he stopped some paces from where he'd left her.

"Be good." He said. He steeled himself as best he could, and then he walked away.

**LATER**

They saved his trial for last. He tried not to think that it was an intentional ploy to make him wait in Azkaban for as long as possible, but in such a dark, fearsome place it was impossible not to be pessimistic. They had separated him from his parents when they were brought into custody. Somewhere in the vast labyrinth of cells, they were on their own. He didn't worry much for his father, who he was quite sure would be found guilty - as he himself expected to be - but he couldn't stomach the thought of his mother suffering through this unforgiving prison. She would be scared for him as well, which made him feel infinitely worse.

He didn't eat what little they gave him, and he could not be persuaded to drink the murky, rust-toned water. He was wasting away, he knew but did not care. The days stretched by and the hunger pangs dissolved into a general blanket of pain that settled over him. A few more days still and he felt nothing at all.

At night he traced the stars and constellations that were visible through the bars of his window. He would fall asleep thinking of those celestial gods and their mythical lore but dreams always gave way to night terrors that left him shaking in a cold sweat. The eyes of the dying would fixate on him in their final moments.

_You did this_, they said wordlessly. _Your fault, your fault, your fault…_

The horror would end as Draco was enduring the Cruciatus curse, the memory of his own torture back to torment him once more. He couldn't be sure if it was his screams that would wake him in the night or not. Other inmates cried out too often to be certain. Eventually, he stopped sleeping.

The day of his trial dawned cold and clear. He hadn't known when his trial would be, and the guards didn't offer any information as they ordered him up and out of his cell. Someone performed a Scourgify - likely for their benefit rather than his - and he was put in shackles before being apparated into the ministry dungeons for holding.

Draco could hear arguing ask they placed him on a pedestal and raised him into the courtroom chamber. He squinted and recoiled against the bright lamp light, only to find spikes threatening against his back. He stood up a little straighter then and opened his eyes to face his accusers.

Kingsley Shacklebolt peered back at him from over the rim of the tall desk. For the first time since his arrest, Draco's palms began to sweat.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy, your trial has concluded and the jury of this court will now read their verdict." Shacklebolt's voice boomed deep and rich across the room. "Madame Juror, if you will please read the verdict to the court."

So, that was that, then. He hadn't been allowed to be present for his own trial. It was over already, without having heard a word of it himself or being permitted any final statements. Truthfully, though, he couldn't be sure he wanted to make any. Had he been given any defence? He didn't know.

A mousy woman in drab ministry robes stood and cleared her throat. He closed his eyes once more.

"On count one, murder in the first degree of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the accused is found to be not guilty."

His eyes snapped open.

"On count two, sedition against the ministry, the accused is found to be not guilty."

His breath caught in the middle of a sharp exhale, and he choked.

"On count three, knowing and intentional use of the illegal Unforgivable Cruciatus curse, the accused is found to be not guilty."

The choke became a sob.

"Madame Juror, is your verdict unanimous?"

"It is, sir."

"Thank you, please be seated." Shacklebolt turned to Draco again.

"Mister Malfoy, the members of this court, having seen sufficient evidence and testimony, have found you not guilty on all counts. You are to be released immediately to begin a 24-month probationary period during which time your magic will be restricted and monitored. You will be assigned a location where you will be expected to remain for the duration of your probation. You will check in with your probationary officer every first and third Monday of the month and you will attend mandatory psychiatric counselling. At the end of this probationary period your case will be reviewed, and if found acceptable, your magic shall be unrestricted. Do you understand the conditions of your release as presented to you?"

"Y-yes," his voice cracked, dry and brittle from lack of use, and unsteady for sheer shock at his unexpected verdict.

"Mister Malfoy, I will say one more thing," Kingsley steepled his fingertips and leaned forward. "You are leaving here today a free man at the earnest and emphatic statements of your peers. This is in spite of the rather negative descriptions of your character. Make no mistake that this court could have made quite a different case without them. Do not waste that gift, Mister Malfoy. It is up to you to live the life they believe you capable of. I wish you luck."

They lowered him, numb and shaking, back down the chamber. Movement caught his eye as they operated the cranks and levies. Before he could disappear out of sight, he saw Granger pushing her way through the throng in a hurry. She blasted through the doors, and then they both disappeared. He shook so badly as they tried to remove his shackles that it took a great deal longer to complete the task than it should have. There was an official-looking woman who thrust a bundle of belongings at him, along with a thick manila folder.

"Your probation assignment, housing information, and monthly allowance," she said briskly before turning to leave. He flipped the folder open to the first page and caught the name of a town, clearly French, in bold.

"My parents?" He started. The woman hummed impatiently.

"Your PO will answer all your questions. He's waiting outside to escort you out."

She left, and he was alone to change his clothes. He wobbled on newborn legs, weak from imprisonment, malnutrition, and his pumping adrenaline. With some effort, he managed to dress and comb his hair with his fingers.

A man stood outside the door. His PO, he assumed. His face was old and hard but not unkind. He extended his hand for Draco to shake. He did. It was warm. He introduced himself as Rodger Binks, retired Auror turned parole officer. He didn't speak to Draco like the felon he deserved to be, and for that, Draco thought he might be able to like him.

Steps away from the atrium fireplaces he was stopped by a cry too familiar. As it got louder and more desperate, he turned.

Granger was running towards them, wild hair flying, flushed faced and out of breath. She was a different person than the girl he saw not so long ago on his mother's parlour floor. This woman was vibrant. She was wearing neat grey trousers and a burgundy blouse that made her eyes look like fire, but those eyes were nervous again.

"What are you doing here, Granger?" It was too reminiscent of last time and it made him uncomfortable.

"Malfoy - " she shook herself and started again. "It's going to be alright. You're going to be fine."

He started to put Kingsley's words together in his mind and realized with some shock what they meant.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asked, incredulous. She looked shy. "Why?"

"Me and some others. It was the right thing to do."

"Think you'll ever get tired of it?"

"Of what?"

"Doing the right thing."

Her lips curved into a warm smirk, and he decided it looked good on her.

"You had better hope not."

"But why are you here?" The atrium was deserted for all but the three of them. Binks didn't stray but had the decency to look very interested in his fingernails.

"I wanted to say goodbye," she moved to reach towards him but thought better of it. "And good luck."

Binks had him firmly by the bicep and was inching him towards the grate. He turned to follow.

"Draco!" His name seemed to burst from her with temerity that surprised them both. He met her eyes one final time.

"Be good." She smiled then, nervous but wide, and lifted her hand in a delicate wave.

A moment later, he was being pulled into green flames and stepping out towards his new beginning.


	2. Winter

**AND THEN**

**WINTER**

**SUNDAY**

She caught sight of him through the storefront window of Madame Malkin's, her purchases from Flourish and Blotts next door clutched tightly in her hands, and she froze. He was standing on the pedestal in the centre of the shop, his back to the window as the Madame herself took his measurements. He was stripped to his trousers and tight, white undershirt, arms spread wide, as magical measuring tapes curled around his torso.

Maybe it wasn't him. Not every tall, blond man had to be Malfoy, after all. This man was clearly healthy and strong. His shoulders were broad, and the sinewy muscles of his back stretched tautly. When she had last seen Malfoy with her own two eyes, he was a ghost of himself, pale and sickly. But, that had been several years ago.

The man dropped his arms to his sides and turned. His eyes found hers through the window pane and she audibly gasped. It _was_ him. He was back.

There was a pause as recognition flashed across his face. He ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than before. His hand came up and quirked in an almost shy, half wave. The corner of his mouth pulled into an amused smirk, but his eyes were kind. They didn't mock her.

The near friendly gesture startled her and she ripped herself from the storefront to hurry home, away from Diagon Alley. As she stumbled out of the Leaky and into Muggle London, she shook herself.

_Get a grip, Granger. It's only Malfoy._

As she walked down Charing Cross Road, her mind skipped over what could have brought him back to London after all this time. She vaguely recalled having read a brief article regarding the end of his exile in the Prophet a couple years before, but the mention was so bereft of details it hardly warranted acknowledgement.

She crossed Great Newport Street and the corner patisserie, then inhaled deeply as she passed the sweet shop. Rich cocoa truffles teased her from the display, but she was almost home. She started digging through her pockets as she approached her flat and shoved her key roughly through the opening of the wrought iron gate. It separated her front stoop from the busy and sometimes curious foot traffic of Shaftesbury Avenue and Covent Garden. Despite the white noise from the bustle below, she couldn't imagine being at home more than she was – a flat between two bookshops.

She huffed as she shifted her purchases and adjusted her handbag, staring up the narrow stairwell.

_It wouldn't kill them to put in a lift._

The location – brilliant.

The fourth-floor walk up – not so much.

She had been living in this flat for just over five years. She bounced around for a time after the war, staying with friends and even renting a room at the Leaky Cauldron for a short while before this gem became available for let.

It had two bedrooms, the smaller of which she had turned into a workspace, and in the master bedroom a rather spacious en suite bathroom with a claw foot tub that she enjoyed greatly.

The kitchen was small, but the openness to a small breakfast nook and the living room prevented it from feeling cramped. Although she very well could, thank-you-kindly, Hermione didn't do much in the way of cooking. Cupboard space for her dry goods and an icebox for the milk was plenty sufficient for a young woman who lived on toast and tea.

The living room boasted wall-to-wall built-in bookshelves, which was now chockablock full of her tomes, and a small hearth in the corner. She had furnished it with an old Turkish rug of her grandmother's and some secondhand, but still in good shape, sofas. It felt cosy and warm, even on the chilliest of days. It was home.

Hermione pushed through the door of her flat and dropped her packages into an armchair. Gloves, hat, scarf, coat, jumper, shoes.

_Off, off, off!_

She huffed in frustration as she sought to shed her layers and catch her breath.

When she was down to her trousers and long-sleeved tee shirt, she heaved a sigh of relief and padded towards the kitchen in her socks to start the kettle for tea.

Despite her best efforts to avoid it, her brain jumped back to Malfoy as she rummaged through her pantry for the last bag of chamomile. Empty mug in hand, she leaned against the counter top in thought.

Narcissa was well, as best she knew. He would have wrapped up any details of his inheritance during his last birthday several months ago. The gossip pages, not that she read such rubbish, hadn't mentioned him being in a relationship or hinted at any new business ventures. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and hoped there was no trouble. She was at a loss as the kettle sounded.

As she sipped, curled into her sofa, she reminded herself it wasn't any of her business, truly. Why one man decided to visit London had no bearing on her. And for that matter, perhaps that was all it was – a visit. A trip to Madam Malkin's for some new robes and a social call to his mother was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Pacified for the moment, she allowed herself to resume her evening as planned. A long, hot bath and a good book were all she wanted before the start of a new work week. Much later as she lay in bed a final thought unwilling passed across her mind.

_He looked fit._

**MONDAY**

Ginny picked at her butter chicken and naan before leaning over the patio table conspiratorially. The two women were enjoying a rare and uncharacteristically sunny afternoon lunch, a brief reprieve from the early winter weather.

"I've heard a delicious slice of gossip." She said. Hermione stole a bite from across the table.

"I like yours better." She decided aloud. Ginny pushed her friend's fork away.

"You're supposed to take my bait, not my lunch! Shoo!" Hermione retreated to her side and sighed.

"Fine, then. What have you heard, Ginerva?" Ginny smiled.

"Draco Malfoy has been spotted back in town. Hannah Abbott flooed me at an ungodly hour last night in a state. Apparently, he's staying at the Leaky and hasn't breathed a word to anyone as to why he's returned," Ginny finished in a rush.

Hermione waved her off with an indifferent shrug and nibbled at her kebab.

"I know," she said. "I saw him already."

"You've done what?" Ginny choked.

"I mean, I haven't _seen him_, seen him. I saw him through a shop window on my way home. He waved."

"He waved." She deadpanned. Hermione's head bobbed.

"He waved," Hermione repeated. "And I think he may have smiled."

"He _smiled_?"

"I think so."

"And what did you do?"

"I was startled, so I left. Rather rude of me, actually. I regret that bit."

"Well," Ginny exhaled and reclined in her chair. "It seems I have no new news to share, then." She took a long pull from her drink. "But..."

"But, what?"

The younger woman wrinkled her nose and pushed a tendril of red hair behind her ear.

"You were the last person he talked to before he left. Do you think it's a bit odd that you're the only person he's acknowledged since he's been back?"

"We can't know that. You can't know that. He may have already seen other people. He must have called on someone by now."

"Perhaps, it was just a thought."

"Let's talk about something else," the brunette implored. "How're Harry and the children?"

Ginny scoffed and blew a wet raspberry. She ticked off each finger of her left hand.

"Petulant, ill, insists he's a dragon, and won't stop speaking with an American accent."

Hermione cocked her head in confusion.

"What order was that in?"

Ginny shrugged and gestured for the check.

"Any order you like." She mopped up the last bit of sauce with a wedge of naan. "Point is, my house is overrun with madness and I'm delighted to be away from it."

"You're such a lovely mother."

Ginny hummed. "I know, it's a burden."

The waitress dropped the check and Hermione scooped it up before Ginny could reach out.

"I've got this. I've got to get back to work, but if you're looking to get out again, say, Friday evening, I planned to do a bit of Christmas shopping. Maybe we could get a bite after?" The groan from Ginny was sinful as Hermione dropped the appropriate coins onto the table and gathered her handbag.

"You're the love of my life. Yes, please. I'll even treat for supper. But you owl me immediately if you have any more run-ins with Malfoy, hear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hermione agreed as the friends stood and embraced. Ginny pulled back.

"Good! Now kiss me, darling, and get back to your very important work."

Hermione kissed her soundly on the cheek and waved as she turned on her heel and back towards the Ministry.

**FRIDAY**

Her day had been delightfully productive at the office, and by the time she stopped off at her flat to change clothes before meeting Ginny, she was beaming. Maybe it was the work that left her feeling fulfilled or the holiday spirit that had her humming carols under her breath, but her mood was downright cheerful. She felt magical, it sparked and crackled within her.

She stripped down from her work robes and shimmied into a pair of jeans, then pulled a tight black jumper of smooth cashmere over her head. She was still pulling on her boots and buttoning her coat as she juggled her keys to lock the door. She'd be early, but maybe with enough time to grab a cuppa on the run. Something spicy, perhaps a chai?

She made it to Madam Primpernelle's in record time and used her unexpected minutes to browse the beautician's new skincare line.

_Polish off the years with only three potions a day!_

_That's likely_, Hermione thought with a snort.

She added a bottle of Sleekeazy's to her basket for herself, and a handful of the skin-smoothing potions Molly was so fond of. She was considering some Bright Eyes mascara that claimed to make her eyes appear larger when there was a tap on her shoulder. She turned.

"Harry!" Surprised, she pulled him close with her free arm. "What are you doing here? Ginny is supposed to be here any moment," she paused for a beat. "Wait, who is watching the children?" Harry grimaced and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry, Mione. She's sent me to tell you she can't make it. She tried to floo you, but you must have already left. Albus caught Lily's flu and is projectile vomiting all over the house. We sent James to Molly and Arthur for quarantine but Ginny won't leave with two sick children at home. She said to give you this, that she promised to buy you dinner." He dug through his coat pockets and produced a clumsy handful of coins.

"Oh, Harry! Don't be stupid, I won't take your money. We'll reschedule, is all. I'm sorry to hear about the babies. Is there anything I can do?" She asked. Harry gave her a rueful smirk.

"They're hardly babies anymore," he said. "I think we have everything under control." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"They'll always be babies to me. I think I'll have a drink at Neville's and head home. Thanks for letting me know. Give everyone my love!"

"Always," he promised as he turned to leave.

With a disappointed sigh, she took her purchases to the counter to pay, her shopping spirit having vanished for the evening. Within the hour, she was pulling herself up onto a bar stool at the Leaky and shrugging off her coat to drape across the back of her seat. She crossed her arms across the bar top and slouched forward.

"Alright there, Mione?" Neville called to her from across the bar where he was unloading crates of liquor.

"Alright, Nev. You?"

"Alright. What'll it be, then?"

"Firewhiskey and soda water with an orange twist, please."

"Make it two, please, Longbottom."

Later, Hermione would be proud of herself for not jumping at the deep timbre voice that spoke up from behind her. It had a finely bred lilt that would have identified him to her even if she hadn't turned to see his face. She felt the heat of an arm resting across the back of her chair, and in a move that she hoped appeared casual and nonchalant, turned her chin to rest on her left shoulder and peer up at him through her lashes. He pulled his arm back to tuck his thumbs in his trouser pockets but didn't step back out of her personal space.

"Granger," he tipped his head in greeting.

"Malfoy," she replied amiably.

"May I buy you a drink?"

"You may."

He gestured to the seat beside her holding her handbag and purchases with a questioning glance.

"Oh! Of course!" She flushed and hurriedly moved the bag to the floor. He sank onto the stool with grace. They fell into uncomfortable silence and Hermione fiddled nervously with the sleeve of her jumper. She took a deep breath.

"I'm sor - "

"You seem - "

He chuckled, and she bit her lip as they both spoke at the same time. They were saved by Neville's impeccable timing as he slid two glass tumblers across the bar.

"Cheers," Malfoy tapped his glass to hers and took a lazy swallow.

"Cheers," she echoed, cupping her drink with two hands and taking a small sip. She gave herself a small shake. "I'm sorry about the other day, in front of Madame Malkin's. It was unforgivably rude of me to run off like that. I'm afraid you caught me by surprise." Hermione apologized. Malfoy seemed unfazed and dismissed her apology with a shrug of one shoulder. One _broad_ shoulder.

"I must admit, I'm used to that reaction by now. I was about to say you seem happier to see me than most."

Her eyes became wide, chocolate pools that swam with guilt. Her full lips parted in an 'O'.

"I'm sor - " she began.

He pressed one of his hands to her forearm to stop her.

"I didn't say that to make you feel bad, Granger. It comes with the territory, I'm afraid. Don't trouble yourself about it."

Around them, people began to take note of his presence as if to prove his point. The bustling Friday night crowd had quieted, eyes and ears turning towards the striking pair looking rather cosy at the bar. Hannah Abbott had been polishing the same copper shaker since Malfoy joined her at the counter, face agape, and Hermione would have been remiss to not have noticed that the folk band in the corner had ceased playing entirely. For all their lack of subtlety, she did her best to pay them no mind. Malfoy certainly did not seem to.

He took another pull from his drink as Hermione rested her chin on her fist and perused her subject.

He was neatly dressed in a buttery soft looking heather jumper that made her own cashmere sweater look like a rummage sale cast off. A crisp white button-down shirt peeked out at her from above his collar, the top few buttons undone and pulling her eyes to the base of his throat. His pressed black trousers fit so well she imagined even a dandy like Gilderoy Lockhart would be impressed. He wore no coat or travelling cloak, leading her to believe he must have come down from the rooms above the tavern. Although it did not appear to have the stiff hair potions he used whilst at school, his hair was neatly combed back off his face, curling just ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. He was himself, just as she had always known him, but healthier, a little bit older, and more... comfortable? And more, certainly just... _more._

_Yes, _she surmised. That was it. _He looked comfortable. _She reckoned she liked the look of this relaxed adult Malfoy.

"Thank you, I suppose." He was smirking at her. Heat flooded her cheeks and she gasped.

"What?"

"You said I looked comfortable. I suppose I am, as much as one can be under the circumstances." He replied.

_Oh, gods_. She hadn't! But she had.

"I said that out loud?" She cringed as she touched a hand to her face. He stole the breath from her lungs with a devastating smile.

"Indeed."

"I'm sor - "

"Granger, if you try to apologize one more time I shall assume you have an affliction and I will feel obligated to escort you to St. Mungo's." She tossed back the rest of her drink in two deep swallows before stealing herself to meet his eyes. When she did, his brow was raised in surprised.

"I'm embarrassed." She admitted.

"I can tell."

"I don't know why."

"Nor do I."

There was a stretch of silence, though slightly more companionable than the last.

"Shall I leave you to your evening then?" He offered. "I don't wish to make you uncomfortable."

"You're not!" She was quick to correct him. "Though, I was about to head for home. I only wanted one drink." His right hand tapped a rhythm on his thigh.

"You downed it with impressive speed," he teased. When she looked abashed but didn't respond, he continued.

"Very well, then," he said. He twisted to look at the clock on the opposite wall. "Half eight." He noted.

"Yes." She murmured, drawing circles on the bar with the condensation droplets from her empty beverage. She burned to ask him questions.

_What was he doing here? Was he alright?_

It seemed neither the time or the place, with the audience they had. She eyed them all.

"I don't live far," she whispered, "I usually walk from here."

Pale blue eyes widened, darkened, then narrowed. He bent his head low, close enough for her to smell the faint scent of orange on his breath and feel the warmth of his nearness.

"Do you really?" his voice was thick. "May I see you home?" He was already gathering her belongings from the floor and helping her into her coat as she nodded. He called over her shoulder, "Put it on my tab, Longbottom."

Hannah dropped her shaker to the floor, Neville sputtered unintelligibly, and a packed pub watched in disbelief as Hermione Granger was led out into muggle London with Draco Malfoy, his hand high on her waist.

"This is me," Hermione said, working the key into the gate. The short walk to her flat had been filled with polite conversation.

About the weather:

Her: "You don't have a cloak, you must be cold."

Him: "I'm alright, thanks."

About the neighbourhood:

Him: "Quite busy through here, isn't it?"

Her: "Yes, but I like it."

About the Leaky:

Him: "The drinks have improved from what I remember."

Her: "Hmm."

Malfoy followed her through the outer gate and paused as she fingered her key ring in front of the door that led up to her flat. She bit her lip. He gave a lazy kick to a nearby rock. It shouldn't have pleased him how out of sorts she looked, but it did.

"Would you like to come up?" She asked. His heart hammered in his chest.

"For tea," she clarified quickly.

"Sure."

She turned to unlock the door and let them into a small foyer. Her hair gave a delightful flip as she looked back at him over her shoulder.

"I should warn you, it's a walk up."

"Not a problem," he replied. But oh, walking up four levels of stairs behind Granger was a problem he had not anticipated. The woman had one of the nicest, perkiest, tightest bums he'd ever seen. And he was now seeing quite a lot of it from his vantage behind her.

He wasn't in love with Granger. He hadn't been harbouring secret feelings of longing, hadn't toiled through unrequited love. He didn't yearn for her affections. He hadn't sought her out in the pub that evening with the hope or intent of seducing her onto her back. In all honesty, he had more respect for her than that and owed her a good deal more. He did, however, have a great appreciation for the female form, and Granger's form was great indeed. She'd been lovely as a girl, but this woman was... this woman was... well, he wasn't quite sure, but he sighed as he failed to find the right words in his head to describe her. She misinterpreted his sigh as one of exhaustion and called back to him.

"Not tired already, are you? Three more flights to go!"

"Lead on, Granger," he answered, noting with some reverence that to bounce a sickle off her arse would be an injustice. It deserved a galleon. Near the last flight, she became short of breath herself.

"Every time," she panted. "I go home," breathy pause. "I wish they would put in a lift."

"No!" The word was out before he could think better of it. "Er - "

She stopped two steps above him to look back at him. She was so charming then, cheeks flushed, breathless, and - _come on then, Malfoy. Get a hold of yourself._

"Part of the charm, don't you think? The walk up?"

_You blithering idiot. She'll never buy that._

Merlin must have been looking out for him like an old chum because she gave him one of her small smiles.

"I agree."

They finally arrived at the top landing, and with a quick turn of her key she pushed through her doorway and propped it open with her hip.

"Won't you come in?"

He stepped into the darkness, but with a flick of a switch and wave of her wand, the wall sconces burst into light and scattered candles flickered to flame. He took in his surroundings and couldn't help but smirk when he realized just how _Granger _the place was. If she was a decorating style, this was it. Practical, cosy, neat. She pulled off her outer layers before moving to the kitchen to dig through the cupboards.

"Make yourself at home!" she called out. "I must have some herbal here, somewhere."

He toed off his shoes by the door, then strolled to her bookcases to pursue the titles. The worn, gilded lettering of _Hogwarts, A History _winked back at him in the candlelight, reminding him that his visit wasn't quite the casual social visit he wished it was. She was burning to interrogate him, he could see that plainly. But she had, smart woman she was, restrained herself while they had been subject to prying eyes and ears down at the pub. If she hadn't invited him here, he supposed he would have resorted to something desperate and vaguely stalking like following her home. He felt her behind him and turned. She held a dainty rose patterned teacup out to him. He accepted it with a sniff.

"Is this - "

"Brandy. I'm afraid I'm all out of herbal tea," she said sheepishly.

"By gods, Granger. You call yourself an Englishwoman?" he teased, taking a sip. "You're lucky this is good brandy." She hummed in response.

"Care to sit?" she curled up on the far end of the sofa, leaving him to the other side. She tucked her feet beneath her and perched her own cup on her knee. He reclined comfortably and waited for her to start.

_Surely, it wouldn't be long before -_

"Might I ask you something?"

_Ah ha._

"Please, do."

She bit her lip. A habit, it seemed, he had noticed her doing it all night.

"Not that it's any of my business, of course, but what brings you back to London?"

"It was time to come home. I missed England and my mother, and it felt like the right time." He answered honestly. She looked surprised.

"You're staying then? For good?" He nodded.

"I'm a touch surprised you're not staying at home."

"You and my mother both," he replied with an easy quirk of his lips. "No," he continued. "It hasn't felt like home in a long time. I plan to find my own place soon, but the Leaky is a place to land for now."

She pursued him for a moment before smiling and stretching to clink her teacup to his.

"Welcome home, then."

"Thanks," he traced the handle of his cup with this thumb. "I did want to see you as soon as I got back. I wanted to talk to you." Her eyes widened but she didn't interrupt. "You did so much for me during my trial. You were the last person I talked to before I left. One of the few who treated me kindly. And of course, the only letters I ever received besides my mother's were yours. I want to thank you."

She blushed and looked away.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said quietly.

Her letters hadn't been filled with much, and they were few and far between. She wrote to him about positive things, never anything bleak. The recovering Wizarding community, the rebuilding efforts and charitable functions. She wrote to him when people they once knew got married or had children. He never wrote her back, and she stopped writing after the first year, but he enjoyed them just the same. He could, and often did, hear of everything she told him from the Daily Prophet, but that was no matter. She was thinking of him, and he came to think of her as the friend he didn't deserve.

"I was okay. It took some time, but I was good."

_Good._ The tone of the word snapped her eyes back up to his, and for a moment he thought he saw something akin to heat flash across them before it was gone. It filled him with... something, to have... something, he shared with only her. Their little inside joke that was never funny, but always theirs.

"You never wrote to me about yourself. I always wondered what you were up to." She hid behind her cup and took a sip.

"Oh, not much I'm afraid. The usual, you know. Working. A lot. Too much," she admitted. She ran a hand through her hair. "Ron is always travelling. He's the equipment manager for the Chudley Cannons, did you know? Harry works as much as I do, and between that and the children, I don't see him and Ginny as much as I'd like. But we do see each other," she trailed off.

"But what about you?" he pressed. "I wanted to know about you."

"What about me?" she asked timidly.

"Everything," he whispered. "Anything you'll grant me."

There was a long stretch of silence where he thought she might dodge the question or throw him out entirely, but then it all came.

"I like cats," she blurted out. He grinned, and she grinned back. He stayed for hours and they talked, mostly about her, as he filled in the gaps on this person he'd found himself yearning to know for the better part of a decade.

When her speech became punctuated with lion-sized yawns and her eyes become alluringly heavy, he reached across the sofa between them. He kissed her hand making her blush terribly, bade her goodnight, and left.

In his temporary bedroom at the Leaky Cauldron, he slept better than he had in ages.

**SATURDAY**

Hermione awoke to a pounding. Two kinds, as a matter of fact. There was a pounding in her head from far too much brandy, exacerbated by the pounding on her front door. She groaned as she gave a cat-like stretch under the fluffy duvet on her very comfortable bed. The banging on her door increased, accompanied by yelling. If she didn't put a stop to it soon her neighbours would be petitioning for her eviction. With some effort, she forced herself out of bed and into a dressing robe to answer the door.

"What could possibly be the reason for - umph!" She ripped the door open and was promptly tackled by flaming red hair and wild limbs. Both persons were sent sprawling to the floor.

"Ginny!" She cried as she rubbed her bruised hip. "What on Earth is the matter with you?"

Ginny sprang up from the floor, kicking the door closed behind her, and hauled Hermione to her feet. A newspaper was slapped in her hands as soon as she had regained her purchase on gravity.

"Explain!" Ginny demanded.

"What - " Hermione unfolded the Prophet to read the front page. Directly under "_**SHACKLEBOLT SIGNS NEW EXECUTIVE ORDER**__" _and next to _"__**CENTAURS: FRIEND OR FOE**_**?**" was the blaring headline:

"_**GOLDEN GRANGER LEAVES LUSTY LEAKY WITH MALIGNED MALFOY**_"

Beneath it was a picture of the two leaning in close, the exact moment he had asked to walk her home. Nothing untoward had happened, but the angle of the picture looked as if they had been about to kiss. The picture played on loop as she stared at it, aghast. She watched herself bite her lip, he leaned in close, her eyes fluttered closed as she nodded.

"Oh, gods," she threw the paper to the ground and covered her face in her hands.

"Since when are you dating Malfoy?" Ginny asked heatedly.

"I'm not dating Malfoy!"

"Okay, then since when are you taking his broomstick for a joyride? You promised to tell me if something happened!"

"I'm not shagging him either!" Hermione cried desperately.

"Hermione! Half of Wizarding London saw you leave with him last night after what appears to be - " she pointed to the picture again. " - some steamy conversation. You can't tell me nothing happened!"

"But nothing _did_ happen!" she wailed. "He ran into me at the bar! He bought me a drink! He walked me home and we talked, that's all! I swear it." Ginny's eyes softened at her friend's distress. Hermione raked her fingers through her tangled hair and looked as if she might cry.

"Darling," she squeezed her shoulder. "I believe you. You're my dearest friend, of course, I believe you. But you must admit, this looks bad."

"I don't care how it looks! It's not at all what happened. Bunch of drivel," she spat. A tapping noise brought the two's attention to the living room window where an owl was perched, clutching a small package in its claws. Hermione hurried to the window to retrieve it.

"What's that?" Ginny asked.

"No idea..." she muttered as she slid her finger under the envelope seal to see who it was from.

_So you may be a proper Englishwoman once more, and be well stocked for next time._

_\- DM_

Her breath caught as she scrambled to open the box. A small aluminium tin fell into her hands. It was a fine box of tea.

_Oh, tea!_

She sighed happily.

"Next time?" Ginny raised an eyebrow from where she was reading over Hermione's shoulder. Hermione snarled and ground her teeth.

"Yes, well, it's news to me as well, if you must know. We hadn't discussed meeting again when he left this morning."

Ginny's tongue was practically wagging.

"When he left... _this morning,_ you say?"

"Bugger - you know what I meant. Late last night, early morning, after we kept our clothes on and had a perfectly respectable evening in each other's company."

"So, a date?"

"No, it wasn't a date," she insisted, stomping toward the kitchen to put on some coffee. "As I told you, I ran into him at Neville's after you - " she stopped dead in her tracks. "YOU! You! After _you_ cancelled on me and I went about my evening alone! This is _your _fault!"

"Me?" Ginny sputtered but recovered quickly. "If you want to give me all the credit for you spending what sounds like a lovely evening with a somewhat scorned and admittedly fit bachelor then you go right ahead, but I hardly see how this is my fault."

Hermione wagged a finger at her, mouth open to spit a retort, but nothing came out. She had no reply.

"Are you going to see him again?"

"I - maybe," she started. "It's like I said, we didn't make plans." Ginny fanned the note at her.

"I'd bet my favourite brother he wants to, based on this."

"Yeah?" Hermione suddenly felt small.

"Oh, yeah." Ginny was wolfish. "What a lovely little scandal this shall be."

Late in the evening, Hermione sat hunched at her kitchen table, the gifted tin of tea in her hands. She turned it over and over, pursuing the label with easy interest and periodically opening it to inhale deeply. Work was going to be a nightmare the next few days, she knew. The Prophet and gossip rags would have everyone in a tizzy, but she would weather it. And, eventually, it would die down as it always did. People were nothing if not predictable. What kept her up late that night was not anxiety over the attention she was sure to get, but rather Ginny's parting question before she had left:

"If he does ask you on a date, what'll you say, then?"

She had hummed noncommittally and was saved by a well-timed rumble of thunder that had Ginny racing out the door to beat the storm home.

_What would I say, indeed?_

She had no real evidence that he had an interest in her in that way, despite the gift grasped between her fingers. She'd bought Harry and Ron all sorts of gifts over the years without any romantic agenda. But there were brief - _oh, so brief _\- moments the night before where she thought he might kiss her. It was too soon for her to be disappointed when he hadn't, but she doubted she would have pushed him away. She licked her lips subconsciously.

No, she wouldn't push him away.

**MONDAY**

_Granger,_

_May I steal you away for lunch tomorrow?_

_-DM_

_Malfoy,_

_I will be vulnerable for a kidnapping around noon. Be gentle._

_-HG_

**TUESDAY**

"Miss Granger?"

The speaker on her desk crackled to life as the assistant for her department paged her from the atrium.

"Yes?"

"There's a - ahem. You have a visitor? He says you're expecting him, but..." The voice dipped to a concerned whisper. "It's Mister Malfoy. Should I call security?"

Hermione laughed and checked her watch. Eleven fifty-nine. He was certainly punctual.

"No, not at all. I am expecting him. Please tell him I'll be right down."

"Oh! Um - "

She switched off her connection and quickly gathered her things. She straightened her skirt and smoothed a hand over her hair to make sure no wayward strands had made a break for it. Satisfied, she headed towards the lifts. On the ride down from the fourth floor she found herself growing increasingly more excited for their lunch date. She'd had her head buried deep in creature law all morning and the break could not have been better timed.

On the atrium level, she saw Draco standing casually near the reception desk. His presence seemed to be making the young assistant very uncomfortable. The young woman was pale and fraught with nervousness. She wanted to laugh, but she couldn't help but notice that he looked uncomfortable as well.

_Best get out of here, then._

"Afternoon," she greeted him with a beaming smile. "You're right on time."

He bussed her cheek politely and offered his arm. She looped her arm through his as if she had been doing it for years, without hesitation.

"If I had been late, I can assure you that my mother's senses would have alerted her to the transgression and she would be waiting on the walk outside to reprimand me for it. Malfoys are never late." He teased.

"Goody for me, I'm famished. Shall we?" He nodded and started to lead her towards the exit.

"Eep!" Came a strangled exclamation from behind them.

"What did you need, Susan?" Asked a familiar voice.

Sensing trouble, Hermione pulled on Draco's arm to stop and turned back around. Nervous Susan was now looking very guilty as Harry surveyed the area, confused.

"Mione?"

"Harry?"

"Malfoy?"

"Potter."

"I've missed something, I believe." Harry pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Susan paged me saying you required urgent assistance."

Three sets of eyes turned to Susan, who was turning a blistering shade of red. Hermione glowered, staring her down through narrowed eyes.

"Yes, I believe we all have." She cut her gaze back to Harry and mellowed. "At any rate, I'm just fine. Draco and I were about to dash to lunch."

"Malfoy," Harry extended a hand to shake. "It's been a while." The goodwill gesture made her heart swell in her chest. Somewhat cautiously, Draco accepted it.

"Potter, it has indeed."

Unable to help herself, Hermione sent a smug look to Susan as if to dare her to interfere again. The young woman bowed her head.

"Starving," she breathed into Draco's ear. "Let's go."

"Ahem - ah, yes. Well, it was good to see you, Potter. Must be off, I've got to go fill up your best friend."

Harry choked. Hermione laughed. Draco smirked.

Several flashbulbs clicked, and a neighbourhood over in Diagon Alley, typewriters whirred to life.

**WEDNESDAY**

_**VIRILE MALFOY WOOS VIRTUOUS MISS OVER VIENNOISERIES **__\- Daily Prophet_

**FOLLOWING FRIDAY**

_Malfoy,_

_It seems I have an extra ticket to the Kenmare Kestrels game tomorrow. Interested?_

_-HG_

_P.S. - Box seats..._

_Granger,_

_Very interested. Can't wait to see you wear green._

_-DM_

**SATURDAY**

_**WICKED WAYS? WELL-MANNERED WOMAN-WARRIOR WHEEDLED BY WAYWARD WIZARD **__\- Witch Weekly_

**SUNDAY**

_Granger,_

_So rude of you to keep me out late last night. You can make it up to me by joining me for brunch. Be ready for me in an hour._

_-DM_

_Malfoy,_

_I'm full of remorse. You're buying._

_-HG_

Less than an hour after Hermione dispatched her missive there was a knock at her door. She sat on her sofa, one leg bent over the opposite knee as she zipped up her boots.

"Come in!" she called. The door opened and Draco entered, coming to stand behind her. She sat back and rested her head back to look up at him. He placed his hands on the top of the sofa and grinned down at her, fingertips teasing the tops of her shoulders.

"Ready?"

"Yes, let me just grab my handbag and my coat."

He grabbed her coat from the rack by the door and held it open to help her into it. While she fastened her buttons, he gathered the hair from her nape and carefully pulled it free of her collar. They both froze. Slowly, Hermione turned to face him, and he let his hands fall to his sides.

"That night..." she said gingerly, "You touched my hair that night." His Adam's apple bobbed. "Why?"

"I wanted to know what it felt like," he murmured. His eyes pinned hers and she didn't dare blink. "I sat behind you for so long, staring at it," Leisurely, so as not to startle her, he pushed his fingers back through the locks of her hair and made a gentle fist. "I thought I was walking towards my own death, so what could it hurt?"

Her heart squeezed tight as she remembered that scared boy. She'd been terrified then, too, but he had

been so alone. He released her and took a step back, putting an appropriate amount of space between them. She chased him and grabbed one of his hands, lacing their fingers together.

"Whatever it's worth, I'm glad you're here," she said. He appeared surprised by her heartfelt comment but didn't say anything. "Now, feed me before I turn on you."

He smirked and obediently followed her out the door.

"My, my, if I'd known you were going to be this bossy in the early hours I would have waited until lunch to owl you."

"There's no helping it," she teased. "I'm a real witch in the morning."

His laugh reverberated off the walls and Hermione felt the vibrations down to her toes.

They chatted easily on their way to the Leaky, but they were only steps inside the establishment before she realized something was wrong. They were being watched, again. Almost instantaneously from the moment they crossed the threshold, a hush fell over the pub. Hermione was no stranger to curious eyes and ears, but for the first time she registered the furrowed brows and curled upper lips. She lifted her chin defiantly, returning their judgement with an equally glacial stare as if she could will them to mind their own business lest she mind it for them. She turned on her heel and marched for the back door, back straight and bristling. While Draco tapped the bricks, she waited impatiently for the passage to open, her temper shortening.

They were seated at a cafe kitty-corner to Twillfit & Tattings by a sceptical looking waitress. The time it took to give her their drink orders felt endless, but eventually she left them.

"Are we... spending too much time together lately?" Draco asked uncomfortably. Hermione slapped her menu down and her eyes snapped to his.

"What?"

He shifted in his seat and crossed his arms. She made no attempt to be discrete as her eyes moved to the strain of fabric around his biceps momentarily before catching his stare again.

"I just wonder if I'm making things difficult for you. I'm used to this, but..."

"But, what?"

He didn't respond immediately.

"But what, Draco?" She implored, her temper weakening.

"Maybe it was a bad idea to invite you out to breakfast this morning after we were seen together last night. I didn't think it through."

"Forgive me, but I fail to see the problem."

He arched a brow.

"You're not that naive. It looks like we spent the night together."

"And this bothers you?"

Draco sputtered.

"This _doesn't _bother you?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. I've shagged less attractive wizards who treated me far worse than one who would spend all night cheering for _my_ favourite Quidditch team and then buy me breakfast the next morning." Nonplussed, she turned to the waitress who had returned, mouth agape. "The french toast if you please, no cream, berries on the side."

And that was that.

**MONDAY**

**SINGLE GRANGER SLUMS WITH SHAMED MALFOY, CASUAL COITUS OR CATASTROPHIC COURTSHIP?** _\- Witch's Wear Daily Magazine_


	3. Spring

**SPRING**

**WEDNESDAY**

_Hermione,_

_Dinner on Friday?_

_-DM_

_Draco,_

_Can't, babysitting for Harry and Gin til half ten._

_-HG_

_Harry Potter: ruining my life since 1991._

_-DM_

**FRIDAY**

"Tell me ma when I go home

The boys won't leave the girls alone

They pull my hair, they stole my comb

But that's all right till I go home

She is handsome, she is pretty

She is the belle of Belfast city

She is a-courting one two three

Pray, would you tell me who -"

"What are you teaching my child?" Harry asked as he walked into the room. Hermione's hands froze mid-plait in the fine toddler growth of Lily's hair. They sat on the floor together amid a sea of plush animals and her brother's toys.

"She asked me to sing. It was the first thing that came to mind."

"Sing, sing!" the little girl squealed, proving her point.

"Irish drinking songs?" He quirked a brow. "Irish drinking songs were the first thing that came to mind?" She secured an elastic at the end of Lily's hair.

"Oh, relax. _I'll Tell Me Ma_ is hardly _Seven Drunken Nights _and I hadn't even gotten to the good part yet_._" She unfolded her legs from underneath her and lifted her hands in the air. "Help me up, would you?"

"All I'm saying - oof!" he grabbed her by the hands and pulled her up swiftly. "Is that we shouldn't have invited Seamus to happy hour last time. Clearly, he's a bad influence on you." She shook out her legs and stretched.

"Aye." She threw him a cheeky wink.

"Daddy, up!" Lily called from below. Harry hoisted his daughter onto his hip with a muffled grunt.

"Lily Luna, did you give Auntie 'Mione lots of trouble?"

Lily looked bashful before burying her head in the crook of her father's neck and blowing a very loud, very wet raspberry. Hermione shrugged.

"She wouldn't go down at bedtime. I was trying to wear her out. The boys are sleeping like the dead."

"It's alright, thanks for watching them. I'll have Ginny try again, she has the best luck. Hold up before you go though, yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll be in the kitchen." Her footfalls on the plush, pink carpet were nearly silent as she left the nursery, passing Ginny on the way. She was shrugging into her coat and gathering her belongings when Harry made his way to her.

"What is it?" She asked.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing... I know you thought - we all expected - the papers would quiet down about Malfoy after a week or two, but... nearly three months now..."

Hermione fidgeted anxiously with her watch on her left wrist, tightening and loosening the band. She cleared her throat.

"I'm not fond of the attention, you know? But it's false, all of it. We're not - I mean, we haven't -"

Harry remained quiet to give her time to finish. When she didn't, his question was diplomatic but spot on.

"Are you upset because it's false, or because it's false and you wish it wasn't?" The pregnant pause and look of guilt that followed was enough of an answer.

"Right, then. Well," Harry took a deep breath and grimaced. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but if that's who - _Malfoy _\- is what you want, then you may need to consider two things."

Hermione cleared her throat.

"And those would be...?"

"First, you may need to be the one to take initiative, and second, and this is _important_, Hermione, are you paying attention?" she gestured for him to continue. "He might not think he deserves you. As my best friend, I would like to objectively state that you're a very beautiful woman. The only reason a man like Malfoy would be keeping his mitts off a woman like you is if he thinks he either doesn't have a chance or doesn't deserve one."

Her eyes widened as her mouth dropped open.

"But that's ridiculous!"

"Is it?"

"Yes!"

"Really?" His tone was droll. "How many times did he try to kill us in school?" She reared back.

"I mean, not _directly_..."

"And how many times did he wish we were dead? How many times did he bully you? How many times did he watch his aunt torture – harm - hurt you before he turned away, but did nothing to stop her? How many -"

"Okay! Okay. I understand where you're coming from. But we're friends now, things have changed. Shouldn't that, I don't know, encourage him?"

"You're far too old and experienced to be asking that question, love."

"Rude. Not quite thirty yet..."

"How many -"

"Not again -"

"...years did it take Ron to ask you out? For me to ask Ginny?"

"Seven!" Came a whisper-yell from the hallway.

"Oh for the love of Merlin, Ginny, just come in and join the conversation if you have something to say." Hermione rankled.

"No! He's doing fine on his own. Let him finish."

"My point is, he might feel that he's earned your friendship, but not your -"

"Cunny!"

"Ginerva! There are children in this house!" Hermione hissed. The redhead stepped into the kitchen and made a show of rolling her eyes.

"Calm down, none of them know what a cunny is." The pitter-patter of small feet was a brief prelude to -

"Mummy, can I have a cunny?"

Three sets of eyes turned to little Albus.

"That's my cue," she kissed Harry on the cheek and waved to Ginny. "Have fun with this one. Goodnight, Potters."

It was nearing midnight when Hermione huffed up the final steps to her front door. If she'd had any breath to spare it was stolen from her by the sight that was waiting for her.

_Sweet heavens above…_

Standing propped against her door with one ankle causally crossed over the other and looking delicious as sin, was Draco Malfoy. He was dressed casually in well-fitting denim jeans and a black pea coat, a light blue shirt beneath making his eyes almost unnaturally bright. From her vantage point, she could see the top buttons were undone. A bottle of what looked to be wine was caught between the fingers of one hand while he took bites from a shiny, green apple held in the other. One large bite and he sucked the juice from his lower lip before it could drip down to his chin.

Physical awareness shot through her like she'd been stupefied.

_That settles it - I want him to ruin my life._

She audibly squeaked, prompting him to look up. He smirked, the old kind - the one he wore in school when he was about to stir up trouble. She swallowed hard.

"You know, it's the strangest thing. I could have sworn I told you I was busy tonight." He didn't move out of the way to allow her to access her door, so she threaded her hand between his arm and midsection to reach the locks. The heat of him and his spicy and clean male scent made her dizzy enough to miss the keyhole twice.

"You mentioned babysitting for Potter and Little Red. I thought you could use a nightcap."

_You have no idea._

She laughed out loud at herself.

"You have no idea."

Finally getting the door open and leading him inside, she made a swipe for the bottle.

"What do you have here?" She asked. He chuckled as she kicked the door closed behind them.

"Does it matter?"

"No."

**SATURDAY**

**ILLICIT LOVE POTIONS SUSPECTED IN LEWD LIAISON - HERMIONE HOWLS 'HELP!**' -_ Spellbound_

**SUNDAY**

Draco's heels clicked sharply against the polished marble floor of Malfoy Manor's long hall. He counted doors as he passed: one, two, three - left turn - four, five - full stop. He tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned against the door frame as he waited for his mother to take notice of him. Her eyes lit up with delight when she caught him.

"Darling! How good of you to join me for tea." Narcissa Malfoy paused her teacup en route to her lips and beamed at her son. Draco crossed into the room and dropped a kiss on her head, then moved to sit on the firm, rose-patterned sofa across from her. He reclined comfortably as she poured a second cup of tea.

"Yes, well, you did send Tippy to my rented rooms with explicit instruction to knock me out and Apparate me if I did not comply, so I thought I'd save myself the headache. You know I hate side-along."

His mother did not even have the decency to blush at being called out. Her shoulder lifted just barely in acknowledgement, and he knew from experience that the subject of her threatened kidnapping would be dropped.

"Of course, I wouldn't have to send for you if you were staying here with me. I simply don't understand why you won't. Honestly, Draco, living in a run-down hotel is beneath you. You could stand to rent a respectable flat in Wiltshire _at least - _"

"I find I prefer London these days." He cut in.

"And why shouldn't you join me for Sunday tea? Cook made your favourite scones."

_It's a trap_, he thought to himself.

"Unless of course, you already had plans with someone."

_Wait for it._

"Surely, as your mother, you would have told me if your sudden relocation had anything to do with a witch."

_Ah, there it is._

"Because you know my dear, I would feel so terrible if I was intruding on your engagements by keeping you here."

His temple began to throb.

_Don't say a word. Don't take the bait._

"A date, especially. My goodness, such bad form to beg off at the last moment, and to meet your mother no less."

_That's it._

"Been reading the papers lately, have you, mum?"

"Oh, now that you mention it, I think I do vaguely recall reading something. Of course, you know I would never have brought it up if you hadn't said something first." Her expression was flawless. Not a single crack in her delivery. He shook his head.

_Gods deliver him from meddling mommas._

"I hate to disappoint you, but the papers are wrong. There is nothing going on between Granger and me." Even as the words came out of his mouth they felt like a lie. Narcissa nibbled a chocolate biscuit, but remained silent. It made him nervous. He stuffed a cucumber sandwich in his mouth to prevent himself from filling the void with embarrassing admissions. She cleared her throat as he chewed.

"And what are your intentions towards Miss Granger? I must admit, she's grown to be quite lovely." He inhaled sharply at her question, choking around a bite of pain de mie. She tsked and pursed her lips.

"Careful, dear." He continued to sputter as he chased it down with his tepid tea.

"I believe we are friends. My intention is to continue to be her friend for as long as she desires."

"And what of your desires?"

"What of them?"

"Hmm."

"Hmm? That's all you have to say?"

"Oh no, of course not, but you know I hate to be overly candid." Draco arched an eyebrow.

"Do you?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Mind your cheek, young man. I suppose I simply must wait to speak with Miss Granger myself if I am to determine any romantic notions. I do so look forward to her reply." Narcissa dabbed delicately at her lips with her linen napkin. Draco started.

"Her - what?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. I've invited Miss Granger to take tea with me at her earliest convenience. I understand she works a great deal, so I did not wish to put her out by suggesting a time without knowing her schedule."

"You've - what?" He struggled to breathe as panic stuck through him like lightning. "When - what? Why? But, what?"

"Draco, honestly. It's only tea! Calm yourself."

"When did you send this invitation?" He managed to grind out through clenched teeth. Narcissa tipped her head in false consideration.

"Was it two? Perhaps half past? You know, I cannot quite recall. It was some time before you arrived today. It went out in the post with the rest of my afternoon correspondence. Of course, you would have known this already if you did not insist on staying in that shabby, rundown establishm - wait, where are you going? Draco Abraxas!"

Draco was gone, weaving through the corridors and running for the floo as fast as his legs would carry him.

_Bloody, buggering, meddling, matchmaking mommas!_

Thunderous knocking ripped Hermione from peaceful sleep, again. If this became a pattern she would surely have to move, heaven knows what her neighbours must make of her. She twisted on her sofa, the heavy tome she fell asleep reading slipped to the floor with a thunk.

"Coming! I'm coming." She hurried to rub the sleep from her eyes and slid haphazardly in her socks across the hardwoods towards the door. She raked a hand through her hair as she pulled the door open.

"Draco!" She gasped.

He was doubled over at the waist, one hand supporting his weight against the door frame. His clothes were covered in grime and what she assumed to be floo powder as his breath came in laborious pants.

"Bloody," _wheeze _"Fucking," _wheeze_ "Walk up." _wheeze_ "Of all the," _cough_ "Blasted places," _gasp _"To live."

"Malfoy for god's sake! Get in here before you collapse on my doorway and the neighbours call the authorities."

He provided little resistance as she wrapped a hand around his arm and pulled him across the threshold. She guided him to a chair and pushed him down before moving to get him a glass of water. He gulped it down greedily. Hermione stood before him with her hands on her hips as she waited for him to finish.

"Care to tell me what it is you were running from?"

"Wiltshire." She wrinkled her nose.

"And did you run the whole way here?" She asked flatly.

"Yes." He answered seriously.

Their eyes met and held for a beat. When his gaze broke away from hers, she noticed him noticing her for the first time since his intrusion. Icy blue eyes settled on her breasts for a beat too long before averting elsewhere, a flush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. A tingling tightness across her chest reminded her that she was not wearing a bra, and the bite of early spring that swept in with him had puckered her nipples into tight buds. The light fabric of her top brushing against them sent a ripple of mortifying pleasure to her core.

"Oh!" She gasped. "Excuse me." She ran into her bedroom and shut the door.

Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in her vanity mirror and groaned. For the love of Merlin, it was _Sunday_! And it was _sleeting_, and no one was supposed to see her in this ratty getup. Faded black leggings were tucked into lumpy woollen socks knit by her dear old gran. Her favourite grey tee shirt was worn thin from years of washing and wearing and the neckline had stretched out horribly, but it was baby soft and heaven to sleep in. Her hair was recently washed from the night before, but it had fallen from the bun she tucked it into earlier that day and it fell in waves about her shoulders. The cherry on top - two of them, for that matter - were her traitorous nipples, sensitive and alert, pressing through the fabric as if flaunting their freedom and begging to be touched.

She was quick to strip and jump into the first pair of jeans she could find. She snatched a bra off the poster of her bed and the thickest cable knit jumper she owned, a navy one that she bought from Miss Selfridge's on a self-indulgent whim. There was nothing to be done about the deep creases across her cheek from the throw pillow she'd slept on. She plaited her hair and secured it tightly with the elastic from her wrist before taking a deep breath and turning the door handle.

When she entered the room, the chair he had been sitting in was empty and there was rustling coming

from her kitchen. His blond head poked out from around the cupboard.

"I hope you don't mind. I was hoping you still had some of that brandy about somewhere. I find I require it."

"No, of course not. I apologize, you caught me napping."

He had located her serving tray and balanced the bottle and two glasses atop it as he moved gracefully towards the small living room.

"I don't know what to do first: be amazed that The Great Hermione Granger does, in fact, sleep, or atone for disturbing it." She smiled shyly and curled into the sofa with legs tucked beneath her. He sat beside her.

"Yes, well, I'm sorry for looking such a fright when you arrived." His eyes darkened with a lust she recognized from multiple nights before and his tongue slipped out to wet his lips.

"You didn't need to change. I thought you looked rather fetching." He admitted. She flushed and looked away, secretly pleased.

"Anyway, what has you running from Wiltshire?"

He sighed and pushed his fingers through the damp locks that had fallen across his forehead, head falling back against the sofa with a dull thwack. His palm ran back down his face to cover his eyes.

"My mother. I'm so sorry, Hermione. I had no idea she was going to do that. She's absolutely mad, completely barmy. I don't know how but I promise you I will get her to leave you alone... perhaps I'll buy her a boat. Put her on it. Hire a crew bound for Bermuda. Fuck, I don't know, but just know I'm horrified and truly very sorry. I mean, clearly, you won't be going. It's out of the question." He opened one eye to peek at her. "I don't know how you haven't given me hell yet."

She placed a hand on his bicep and squeezed.

"Because I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about." He caught her hand as he surged forward. She took the opportunity to lace their fingers together.

"What?"

"What? Yes exactly, _what_ are you talking about?"

"I just came from my mother's house -"

"Yes."

"To get to you as soon as possible -"

"Quite."

"Because she owled you-"

"No."

"To have tea with her -"

"Not likely."

"Because she thinks we're dating."

"Aren't we?"

"Arent' w-" She heard the air left his lungs in a whoosh. "We, aren't we? What?"

She squeezed the hand she held, and with the other she wiped a smudge of floo powder from his brow with a clean corner of her sleeve, smoothing away the grime and confused furrow.

"We spend nearly every weekend together, and usually a weekday or two, too." Her fingers slid into his hair, nails languidly raking across his scalp. His growl was low and rumbling as he closed his eyes. Taking advantage of his vulnerability, she moved off her knees and swung a leg across his lap to straddle him. His eyes flew open to find hers, hands fighting for their freedom to settle on her thighs.

"You bring me lunch at work," she whispered into one side of his temple, placing a slow, tentative kiss there. His grip tightened, fingers digging and kneading into the silky flesh of her hamstrings. "You hold my hand when we cross the street," a feather-light kiss to the other side. "You show up on my doorstep at ungodly hours with booze and that look..." she leaned back enough to see him fully. "You make me feel - I," she swallowed hard. "You look at me like I'm beautiful."

Hands moved up to the graceful curve of her waist, his thumbs painting circles on her abdomen.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he exhaled. "But, Hermione -"

"Ask me on a proper date, Draco." She said firmly.

"Hermione, I'm not-"

"Do it. Right now. Ask me."

"I -"

"I haven't seen anyone else since I saw you on that pedestal in Madam Malkin's last winter. Ask me why."

He hesitated.

"Why?"

"Because you are all I _can_ see."

She felt him shudder slightly underneath her. She clamped her thighs around him tighter.

"Now ask me properly, Draco Malfoy, or I swear..."

"I should be asking you down on my knees." He swore under his breath, shaking his head.

"I've got other things for you to do for me on your knees. Stop stalling." She pinched him playfully on the shoulder which earned her a roll of his hips, hot against her centre. One warm palm left her side to stroke her braid.

"Go out with me?" She nuzzled her nose with his, her lips hovering so very close.

"Yes."

He grunted when she suddenly dismounted from his lap, careful to avoid kneeing sensitive areas. He twisted on the sofa to watch as she strode with purpose to her small writing desk and bent over it to draft a letter.

"What are you doing?" He asked, confused and foggy with need. She smirked as she dipped her quill and

leveled him with a coy glance.

"Inviting your mother to tea to thank her." Hermione demurred. Draco grumbled and pushed to his feet. He was at her side in an instant and turned her roughly in his arms to draw her to his chest. She gasped in surprise, but her smile was all the encouragement he needed.

"Why are all of my women so troublesome?"

She preened at his possessiveness and it shot liquid fire through her belly. Small fists twisted in his shirt to pull herself up to his height.

"Draco Malfoy, how else would we keep you in line?" He cradled her neck and pulled her mouth to his.

"Brightest witch of your age... I'm sure you could come up with _something._"

She hummed her agreement and moaned when his lips met hers.

_Finally!_

_Finally._

Finally.

He overwhelmed her; smelling, tasting, and feeling so delicious all at once. A hot, soft tongue ran across her lower lip seeking entrance into her mouth. She granted it eagerly, kissing him back with months' worth of pent up frustration. Later she would worry about being embarrassed for the noises she was making, but she could only focus on the lips keeping her from coherent thought, the hand palming her arse through her jeans, and the hard column of flesh digging into her hip. She ground against it and Draco ripped his mouth away.

"How many," he panted. "How many dates would you say we've had?" He moved to work on the creamy length of her neck and she sighed happily, threading her hand into his hair to hold him to her.

"Mmm..." He nipped at the sensitive skin near her ear, making her dizzy and distracted. Her hand not entertained with the locks at his nape wandered curiously down his chest and lower abdomen to pluck at his belt.

"Fuck," he swore hotly. "Hermione," he pled. "Hold on, sweetheart."

_Oh!_

His endearment was enough to melt her heart and pull her out of her daze. He removed his hands from her backside and out from under her sweater to place them safely on her shoulders.

_When had he gotten under there?_

"If I don't do this the right way I won't be able to live with myself. I need to take you out first. I need you to understand -" Draco started. She struggled to control her breathing and pay attention. His kisses made her stupid. "I want this, you, so badly, but I need to know that you..." he looked away and took a shaky breath. He looked so nervous it began to make her uneasy. She touched his cheek.

"That I what, Draco?"

Slowly, he removed himself from her space and unfastened the cuff links on his left sleeve. Instantly, she knew where this was going. He pocketed the links and folded up the crisp cotton, presenting his forearm with the faded yet still highly recognizable Dark Mark tattooed into his skin. He watched her warily as he waited for her to recoil. She didn't.

"I can't make this go away, Hermione. I can't fix what I did. I can't stop the papers from splashing your good name all over the front pages every time I take you out. If we do this," he paused to shake his head. "If we do this, it will be difficult." Her smile was small but sure as she moved back into his arms, winding her arms around his neck.

"We've already been doing it," she pointed out. "And I have every newspaper clipping to prove it."

"You saved them? Why?"

"Oh, a few reasons, I suppose. But mostly because I liked the way you looked at me in every photo those awful paparazzi took. It's the way you looked at me before you kissed me," she arched into him. "The way you're looking at me now." She rasped.

"If you're sure -"

"The surest."

"I should take you to dinner before I shag you against every surface of this flat." He snaked a hand back up the front of her jumper and deft fingers teased a stiff nipple over the lace of her bra.

"Yes," she cried into his neck.

"To the dinner or the shagging?" He pinched and rolled the bud between his fingertips.

"Sh-shit, yes!" He stopped abruptly and pulled her towards the door.

"Well, let's go then." He declared smugly and he rearranged himself in his trousers. Hermione glared fiercely, her desire raging and unsatisfied.

"I'll kill you." Her threat was weak and they both knew it.

"Worse witches than you have tried," he retorted. "Get your shoes."

All she could do was scowl as she imagined all of the ways she would deliver his explicit torture.


	4. Summer

**SUMMER**

**SATURDAY**

"Run that by me one more time, I'm sure I misheard you."

"We haven't had... sex," Hermione whispered. "Not actual, you know. Not yet."

"What do you mean, you haven't shagged him yet?" Ginny's volume was several octaves higher than what was appropriate for their public setting.

"Do you mind?" Hermione hissed. "Perhaps you forgot but my life is already a regular fixture in every news rag in town and I don't need you making it worse!" She admonished.

"I'm sorry," Ginny apologized insincerely, her face flabbergast. "I must be experiencing heat stroke hallucinations because I just imagined my best friend telling me her boyfriend of certain months hasn't tucked her legs behind her ears yet."

Hermione blushed furiously and shoved a forkful of salad in her face to put off answering her.

"We've done other things," she defended. "Just not... it."

"Excuse me, 'it'? What are you, seventeen?"

"Don't be mean. We're having lunch, this isn't the place."

"Of course it is! Every place is _the_ place for details!"

"I shouldn't have even mentioned anything to you. It feels like I'm betraying his trust."

"Oh come off it," Ginny scoffed. "You think he isn't discussing this with his friends, too?" Hermione was quiet for a moment.

"I'm worried he hasn't got any." She admitted quietly. Ginny yielded for the first time.

"Look, perhaps not," she conceded. "But he's got you. And you've got me, and I'm a bloody love guru so, by all means, give me the gory details and let Momma Ginny help you find sexual happiness."

"We aren't unhappy," Hermione insisted. "As I said, we've done other... things."

"Such as?"

Her mind flashed back to the clumsy desperation they'd both had after their first official dinner out. She had fully expected him to shag her - he'd even said as much - but when they got back to her flat he pressed her up against the wall, pushed passed the zip of her trousers, sunk two fingers deep inside her, and proceeded to work some kind of wandless magic with his hands that had her coming embarrassingly fast and so hard she nearly cried.

He kissed her sweetly, licked his fingers clean, and promised to owl her. She invited him to stay, but he'd claimed he needed to go eat crow at his mother's in the morning.

"You're even more delectable than I'd allowed myself to imagine," he'd said, causing pleasure to flood her again. "I can't wait to eat you up."

She'd only managed a whimper in response as he left.

"Hello?" Ginny's hand waved in front of her face, snapping her back to the present. "It can't be all bad if I'm losing you to fantasies."

"I'm telling you, there's nothing _bad_ about it. I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong. We've done," she lowered her voice to barely a murmur. "Foreplay, and... oral -"

"His or hers?" Ginny interrupted.

"Both."

"Very good. Carry on."

"Anyways, we... start, and then - all good things - but when I expect him to," she widened her eyes pointedly and gestured with her hands. "He just holds me for a bit and then goes home. And I love the being held bit, but, you know." Ginny crunched on a carrot pensively.

"Mm, yes. And he's not weird about you touching him?"

"Hardly." Hermione snorted. Last night he'd urged her on in all kinds of sordid detail as she took him in her mouth.

"I see," the redhead pointed her half-eaten carrot in her face. "Let's be realistic about this, shall we? He's either got some kind of insecurity that he's dealing with, nightmares, flashbacks, and the like - Harry gets them still sometimes - and he doesn't want to bother you with them -"

"But -"

"Not finished. If he shags you, he'll want to stay the night because he won't want to leave you like a prick - admirable! But it would make him vulnerable."

"Okay, but -"

"Still not finished. Or, he's in love with you and doesn't want to fuck you, he wants to make love to you and is worried you don't feel the same."

"I -"

"You know, now that I think of it, it could be both."

"I -"

"Course, it could be something much less complicated." Ginny continued. "Oh, my bloody good night!" she slammed her hand down on the table. "You don't suppose he's a virgin, do you? I mean, how likely is it he found time to get on the pull during all that nasty pre-war business? Or maybe he discovered the female form in France when he-"

"Ginny!" Hermione burst out. "Stop! Please, please stop. I beg you. Stop."

"Stop what?" A deep voice broke out from behind them, causing both women to gasp and whirl around in their seats.

"Draco!" Hermione pressed a hand to her breast, over her racing heart.

"Hello, darling," he bent down to her and places a chaste kiss on her lips. "Red," he nodded politely at Ginny. "I don't mean to interrupt. I saw you from across the way and wanted to say hello."

Ginny smirked and nudged out a chair with her foot.

"Won't you join us, Malfoy? In fact, your ears must have been burning because we just - ow!" she reached down to rub her shin.

"_I will hex you_," Hermione hissed between clenched teeth. She sent daggers at the young woman, willing her to shut up.

"Just ask him!" Ginny hissed back while gathering her handbag. She turned a beaming smile over her shoulder.

"What I meant was, we just were just finishing up and I was about to head off. You should join Hermione for dessert." She stood quickly, waggled her fingers at Draco, and blew an air kiss to Hermione. "Love you, toodle pip!"

As the redheaded firecracker disappeared into the early afternoon crowd of Diagon Alley, Draco dropped into her vacant seat and reached for her hand.

"Is everything alright? I seem to have walked in at a bad time."

"Yes, of course. I mean, no, I do have something I wanted to talk to you about, but I would prefer to do it someplace private." She could see the wariness in his eyes and the flash of concern.

"Actually, there's something I would like to show you. We'll have all the privacy we need there. Are you free now?" She nodded dumbly and didn't argue when he dropped a handful of galleons, too many, onto the table and led her away.

They wove through the street, passed the menagerie and the second-hand robe shop, all the way to the far end of the Alley. A narrow passage blocked by an iron gate stood at the entrance to one of Wizarding London's finer residential neighbourhoods. The wealthiest of their kind lived primarily in centuries-old estates deep in the English countryside, not unlike Narcissa Malfoy. But this area was lovely, too, and a popular market for business professionals, Ministry officials, and well-to-do but not quite rich-as-Croesus families. Ideal for suburban living and commuting to the largest Wizarding employers in London, it boasted a large public library, several manicured parks, and the most darling tea house that put Madam Puttifoot's to shame. She once visited Padma Patil there several years back and was utterly delighted by it.

_Do they still have those maple scones, I wonder?_

"Where are we going?" She asked impatiently. He squeezed her hand.

"It's not far." He promised.

He pushed through the gate and moved in front of her to guide them through the tight entry. Once through, it widened out to reveal a beautiful row of townhomes. Trees lined the cobblestone streets, their leaves rustling gently in the summer breeze. Window boxes full of colourful blooms poured out from sills above her, the flowers and hedges in the small front gardens reaching up to meet them. She stumbled slightly in her wedge heeled sandals, eyes glued to her surroundings and not the ground before her.

"Easy," Draco wrapped a secure arm about her waist. "Nearly there."

They came to a stop in front of a home three blocks off the Diagon corridor with a red lacquered door. Delicate pink rambling roses grew over the low gate, scenting the air and tempting her to stop and smell their blossoms.

"This is lovely," she noted, taking in the tall facade. She could see him nod in her peripheral, but he did not comment. Instead, he let go of her to dig through his trouser pocket, producing a key. He strode up the entryway and fit the key in the lock.

"Come on, then." He called back to her. She scurried after him.

"Who lives here? Are you sure we're allowed to go in? How did you get a key?" She whispered. He chuckled lightly.

"I'm sure we're allowed to be here."

He closed the door behind them. The entire home was bright and airy. Champagne coloured walls were paired with raised panel wainscoting. Light marble floors and delicate gold light fixtures ran throughout as much of the first floor as she could see from her position in the foyer, and peeking into the front sitting room, gossamer window dressings set off the white framed windows nicely. A wide staircase with just enough ornate detail to be considered charming led up to what she assumed were the bedrooms. The home was empty of furniture, but it burst with potential and appeared to have been recently renovated.

"It's four bedrooms, four baths. There's a library down the hall and a small potions workspace in the basement. The back garden isn't terribly large, but it was well taken care of. It was de-gnomed last week."

She spun in a slow circle.

"What do you think?"

"It's splendid, of course," she stopped to look at him. "Who lives here?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

"I do," he answered. Her eyebrows quirked in surprise. "Well, I might. This is my second viewing. I wanted your opinion before I sign the papers."

"My opinion." She repeated back quietly.

"Yes. If I were to live here, I would want you to find it comfortable as well. Maybe you could..." He shrugged.

_Stay_.

Understanding passed between them and she moved closer to press her hands to his chest, plucking at the embroidered emblem on the front. She hummed and cocked her head in thought.

"How often would I visit?" she asked as his hands circled around her to stroke her back.

"Often."

"Hmm... would I have a key?"

"Of course."

"And some space in the wardrobe?"

"You can have the entire wardrobe."

"Will you make love to me here?" She forced the issue before she lost her nerve. The hands on her back left to cup her face as he kissed her tenderly.

"You've been so patient with me."

"Yes, and it's been quite the hardship so if you don't mind - " She cut herself off with a grin and a pinch to his backside in an attempt to lighten the mood. He left her to sit on a stair and patted for her to join him. She did, reclining back on her arms and stretching her legs down across the deep steps.

"Why don't you tell me what's been going on?" She prompted gently. He sighed and ran an anxious hand through his hair.

"I haven't put too much stock in my mother's advice in the last decade or so. She means well, but she's old fashioned and we tend to have different opinions on things... but when I went to see her the day after our first real date, she reminded me of something."

"What's that?"

"I'm not dating you just to shag you. Don't misunderstand, I desperately want to shag you, everywhere, all the time, but I'm dating you - _courting_ you - to prove that I'm worth keeping around."

Her eyes prickled with emotion involuntarily. She blinked rapidly to keep the mist from turning into tears.

"My point is, there is nothing worth keeping about a wizard who lives in a run-down inn over a dusty pub, with no employment and no life plan, always invading his girlfriend's space."

"That's not - "

"You're not a liar, Hermione. It's one of my favourite things about you. But before we get serious, I needed to get myself settled. We are getting serious, aren't we?" He asked. She could only nod.

"So now I'm settled. I'll move in here if you like the rest of it, I start at Gringotts as a Senior Curse-Breaker next Monday, and I would very much like to show you the bedroom now."

"Wait - Curse Breaking? But aren't those international assignments?" She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. He reached over and pulled her into his lap. Her arms naturally found their way around his neck as he nuzzled into the cleavage of her sundress.

"Don't worry," he soothed as he pulled the strap of her dress down her arm. "They were willing to hire me on, but they're not exactly eager to allow my name to represent Gringotts. I'll be based here, in a private office, where no one will ever see me." He was licking his way down a heated breast when she pushed him back.

"Is that really what you want, Draco?" she asked, solemn. He huffed in frustration but abandoned his pursuits in order to answer her.

"Do you want the truth? I don't need a job, Hermione. I don't need it to buy this house, I don't need it to live a comfortable life for the rest of my days, and whatever I earn is going to be negligible compared to the current balance of the family vault. I know how it looked growing up, but believe it or not, I was raised to work and be productive. I'm good at this, and the goblins know that. I need to do something with my time and I would prefer it - that's to say, I hope it would be - something you could be proud of."

She cursed herself as her eyes started to water once more.

_Stupid, sweet man._

She kissed him hard and fisted a handful of hair at the nape of his neck. When she tore her lips away with an audible smack, her voice was determined.

"I'm already so proud of you. I'm proud that you're mine. Bugger the rest."

She gathered the hem of her dress in her hands and pulled it off over her head, naked except for her shoes. The noise that came from the back of his throat was strangled, filling her with power and delight. She slid one leg around to his other side to press her carnal centre against the bulge of his trousers.

"Fuck, love, where are your panties?" He gritted his teeth and rocked against her.

"I vanished them when you said you'd give me the whole wardrobe."

"Urgh - you're going to be the death of me."

"_La petite mort_, if not completely."

"No bra?"

"It's 30 degrees today! _You_ wear a bra in this heat."

"Bedroom," he mumbled against her lips. "Quickly."

"Can't wait. Here, now."

They worked together to hastily remove his clothes. Surrounded by a pile of discarded garments, Hermione took a moment to appreciate the physical man in front of her. Smooth, pale skin stretched out beneath her, nary a blemish to be seen. Flat male nipples pebbled when she leaned forward to kiss them.

Her mouth watered at his strong abdomen and tapered waist, Adonis belt directing her down to her final destination. She reached between them to stroke him, cupping his balls before lining him up with her slick entrance. A slew of curses poured from his lips as she sank down.

"I'm a fool," he gasped. "We should have done this in March."

"And every - OH! - day since." She keened as he started to move deep inside her.

He arched his hips up with each of her downward thrusts, creating a rhythm that worked them both towards blinding pleasure. The edges of the tile stairs bit sharply into her knees and the palms of her hands, sweat from the heat and their physical exertion causing her to slowly slip.

"Gods, you are so wet," Draco moaned, his hands on her hips driving her to ride him faster. "So tight."

"Falling!" She whined. Large hands grabbed her by the arse to keep her astride.

"I've got you." He grunted.

"Maybe I should have - ahh - let you show me the bedroom."

"Next time." He braced them with one foot against the bannister and moved a hand to touch her between the apex of her legs, skilled fingers dancing over her clit and making her cry out.

"Don't stop," she whined. "Don't stop touching me."

"You are so beautiful. Come for me, Hermione." He commanded.

Draco redoubled his efforts, sweat breaking out across his brow while he tried to stave off his own orgasm. The task became impossible when her body caught fire from the inside, she wailed and shuddered, the flutters of her heat milking his release from him. Sunbursts exploded behind his eyes as he came inside her with a roar. She slumped against him, limp, whimpering with each pulse of his length.

With energy and strength she didn't feel she had, Hermione slowly and carefully disentangled herself, limbs protesting every movement.

"Ow, ow -oof!" She collapsed next to him on the cool stairs with a groan, both of them breathing heavy.

"Buy the house." She panted.

"Done."

**SUNDAY**

**MOVING IN? INSIDE SOURCES MENTION MATRIMONY MANIFESTING** \- _Witch Chat_


End file.
